


Work Of Art

by RosellaC



Category: Archer (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 18:06:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8633065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosellaC/pseuds/RosellaC
Summary: Cyril gets tattooed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Short and sweet. This one takes place a few weeks after the end of Drive Me Home. Can be read as a stand-alone, but it'll make a lot more sense if you read that one first.

"You sure you really wanna do this?" Pam eyes Cyril as they approach the shop, and he swallows, nervously. 

"I'm sure," he says. "But you go first." 

"I'm just gettin' another couple tally marks - it's gonna take like ten minutes. If you're stallin' by havin' me go first, it's not gonna do the trick for long." 

He bristles at the knowing look in her eyes. "I'm not stalling!" he protests. "I've just never watched anybody get a tattoo before. I want to see how it all works before they do mine." 

"Okay, then. Just as long as you haven’t changed your mind." She flashes him a quick smile, and a chime rings as they step through the door. Cyril looks around with interest; the shop is brightly lit and immaculate, decorated in soothing neutral tones to better showcase the colorful paintings on the walls. He can hear a faint buzzing noise from behind a closed door, and if it weren't for the receptionist's multiple piercings and fire-engine red hair, he might have thought he'd wandered into an upscale spa rather than a tattoo studio. 

"Huh. Not what I expected." 

He sounds pleasantly surprised, and his tone makes Pam laugh. "What, did ya think it was gonna be in somebody's gross basement? I did a lot of research before I picked this place. I know what I'm doin' when it comes to tattoos."

The receptionist laughs too, obviously used to reactions like Cyril’s. “You must be Pam and Cyril,” she says. “I’m Missy. Thanks for calling ahead. Angela’s just finishing up with another client, so would you two like a tour of the studio after you take care of some paperwork for us?” Pam looks at Cyril, who’s nodding, and she gives Missy an eloquent _thank-you_ look; she’d mentioned on the phone that Cyril would be a little anxious, and she knows that giving him the opportunity to learn something new is always the quickest way to distract him from his worries. Or maybe the second-quickest. 

The tour turns out to be a wonderful idea. Missy shows them all around the small studio, explaining the process and equipment to Cyril, and by the end of it he’s perfectly relaxed and even chatty, telling Missy all about why they’re here today. 

“Awwww, that’s so sweet!” she says, grinning at both of them. “I love couples who come in together. Just promise me you won’t get each other’s names tattooed – that’s pretty much a guarantee of divorce.” 

“Nope, no names,” Pam snickers. “Already warned him about that.” 

The buzzing sound stops and a couple of minutes later, the door opens. A young man comes out, bare-chested, a large bandage covering his upper bicep. Elaborate black outlines creep out from under the bandage, extending all the way down to his wrist. Missy whistles at him admiringly. “Sleeve’s coming along nicely, dude!” 

“Thanks, Miss.” He glances over at Pam and Cyril. “Angela’s a goddamn genius, that’s for sure. You two virgins?”

Pam turns around and flips up the back of her tank top, displaying her tattoo. “Hell, no. Not me! The hubby is, though. Guess I’m a bad influence.” She snakes an arm around Cyril’s waist, pulling him closer to her, and he drops a quick kiss on top of her head. 

“That you are.” 

“Oh, my God, you two are like, the cutest. I can’t even.” Missy giggles, and peeks around the doorframe. “Ange, you ready? I’ve got your two o’clock waiting for you.” 

“Just cleaning up,” Angela calls back. “Give me five.” 

When she’s ready, Pam squeezes Cyril’s hand and leads him in. Angela’s tiny, all cropped dark hair and flashing eyes and barely-contained energy. It takes Cyril a second to realize that the kaleidoscopic patterns covering her arms are skin, not shirt, and he can’t help but stare in wonder. 

“I think I broke him,” Angela says, meeting Pam’s eyes with a smirk. 

Cyril blushes. “I’m sorry! It’s just… wow. That’s incredible.” 

“Let’s start ya off with a small one first, and then we can work our way up to full sleeves, OK?” Pam teases. “Those are bangin’, Angela! Kinda makes me feel bad that I’m not lettin’ ya have your artistic way with me today.” 

Angela laughs. “Well, thanks. We can definitely talk about some large-scale work later, if you want. But for now, get that shirt off and have a seat so I can prep you.” Pam whips off her tank top and straddles the chair backwards, giving Angela full access to her bare back. “Nice letter work,” she says admiringly. “If you ever want to add something to it, some color or a frame or anything, come see me. I’d love to fancy it up for you.” 

She pulls on a pair of new latex gloves and wipes Pam’s shoulders down with an alcohol wipe, before turning to Cyril. “Normally at this point I’d make a stencil of the design and transfer it to the skin, like a temporary tattoo, and then trace over that with the needles. But with something this simple, I can just freehand it.” 

Cyril’s standing against the wall, wide-eyed, but Pam can tell that Angela’s explanations are helping to make him feel a little more comfortable with the process. He watches intently as she prepares the tattoo machine and sets out a tiny cup of black ink, and when she has everything in place, she switches the machine on. Its buzz is much louder now that he’s in the same room with it, and he must have made an involuntary sound, because Angela glances back at him. “Ready, Pam?” she asks. 

“Bring it on,” Pam says. She hisses a quick breath at the first touch of needle to skin, but before Cyril can reach out for her hand, it’s done. Three new dark lines, no more than an inch long, join their thirteen companions, and if it weren’t for the tiny drops of blood welling up, they’d look like they had always been there. Angela gently blots them away, applies ointment and a bandage, and as soon as she’s finished, Pam hops out of the chair. 

“See? Nothin’ to it.” She smiles at Cyril, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Ready for yours?” He leans into her touch like a cat, sucks in a deep breath, and nods.

“Ready.” 

***  
Compared to the car accident, the tattoo is a piece of cake. By the time he registers any pain at all, it's already over, and he almost thinks the tickle of the tattoo gun's buzz was worse than the brief sting of the needle. He says as much to Angela, and she laughs. 

"I hear that a lot, actually. Depends where you get it, though. The closer to the bone, the more it hurts - wrists and ankles are a bitch for most people. Shoulders aren't usually too bad."

Missy gives them both a sheet of paper with the aftercare instructions, and after they've paid and left the shop, Pam turns to Cyril with pride written all over her face. "You kicked ass in there, honey! I gotta admit, I wasn't sure you were gonna go through with it, but I should've known better." 

"It was a lot easier than I thought," he confesses. "Watching you get yours first really helped." 

"Yeah, I can see why Angela has such a great reputation. I kinda feel bad for wastin' her time on something so small... I'll definitely have to come back when I have an idea for something bigger." She wraps her arms around Cyril's waist, smiling up at him. "No regrets, then?"

He thinks maybe she’s not just talking about the tattoo, but he knows how it feels to need some reassurance. "Not a one." He considers for a moment, trying to identify what he's feeling, and then it hits him. "Actually, maybe this is weird, but I feel really good right now. Kind of... giddy, almost.”

Pam squeals with laughter. "Oh, shit! You've got the bug!" 

"The bug?"

"Tattoos are kinda addictive for some people. Endorphins or some shit like that. Sounds like this isn't gonna be your last one!" 

He doesn't say anything more about it, but he has an idea now, and it won't go away. 

***

Three weeks later, Pam's relaxing on the couch after work when Cyril comes home. He'd left the office early that day, claiming an appointment, but he wouldn't give her any other details, and she was starting to get worried. He looks fine when he walks in, though, if a little more keyed up than usual, and she jumps up to give him a hug and kiss. "So are ya ever gonna tell me about this mystery appointment of yours?" 

He's got that guilty look on his face, and her heart sinks for just a second, the tiny insecure part of her wondering if he's already started cheating on her when they haven't even been married six months. She pushes the thought away, with some effort, as his smile grows full and wicked. 

"I have a surprise for you, but it'll have to wait till tonight," he says. 

"Aww! How come I have to wait?" 

She pouts at him, but he's apparently grown immune to her puppy eyes, because he just shakes his head in mock reproval. "Because you're a greedy little girl and you need to learn some patience," he purrs in that voice that makes her shiver. 

The evening passes torturously slowly for Pam, and by the time Cyril stretches and yawns and heads toward their bedroom, she's firmly convinced that he's dragging things out on purpose. When she joins him in the bedroom, he holds her gaze, grinning, as he unbuttons his shirt and shrugs out of one sleeve. "I could use a little help," he says. "My shoulder's kind of sore." 

She's thoroughly confused now, but as she helps him off with his shirt, she spots a large bandage on his left shoulder blade. "What the..." 

"I told you I had a surprise for you," he says triumphantly. "Go on, take a peek." 

She gently peels back the bandage, and gasps. The three tiny marks Angela gave him three weeks ago have blossomed into a brand new design, still puffy and red now, but it's clear what it's going to be once it heals. It's a mermaid, done vintage sailor-style with bright colors outlined starkly in black, and _oh,_ it's more than a mermaid, it's _her._ Unmistakably her, with bountiful curves and golden hair cascading coyly over bare breasts and a string of pearls, holding a trident - or is it a pitchfork? - in one upraised hand. Her tail curls up behind her, framing a dolphin leaping from distant waves, and there's a ribbon-banner too, the kind that usually proclaims one's love for Mom or reminds its bearer of an important date. This one says, simply, "SPLOOSH." 

"Holy shitsnacks!" She's crying-laughing now, completely overcome, both hands covering her mouth. "Oh, my God. _Cyril._ Oh, my God." 

"Do you like it?" He turns to face her, pulling her into his arms before she has a chance to answer. 

She sniffles, beaming up at him. "I _love_ it. I can’t believe it - it couldn't be more perfect."

“Good,” he murmurs, low and possessive, tightening his hold. “Because it’s not going anywhere. And neither am I.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> [Here's](http://www.tattooeasily.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/33fc955495d0ef8c890ab6a36d215d35.jpg) the inspiration for Cyril's tattoo.


End file.
